Crowns
by x c a r t e b l a n c h e
Summary: AU. Eventual SasuSaku, NejiTen, NaruHina, ShikaIno. Be careful on the ladder. Crowns are heavy, and someone's always eager to watch you fall.


_C_R_O_W_N_S_

—

_I:_ Origin_  
_

—

We are where we are from.

* * *

"Miss?"

Aroused from her slumber, Sakura Haruno's viridian eyes slowly focused on the svelte flight attendant in pristine white. She stood before her with a silver bowl filled with rolled towels.

"Hot towel?" The flight attendant inquired, proffering a towel with a pair of tongs.

"Oh, yes—thank you."

I guess we're due to arrive, she mused as she wiped her hands with the towel. She was surprised that she had managed to sleep through the entire twelve-hour flight. Setting the towel to the side, she cranked her leather seat back up to the upright position. Her petite body followed suit, rigid with anticipation.

Sakura had been living in France ever since her mother's death five years ago. Her father didn't want to shirk his fatherly duties, but he couldn't exactly drop his ambassador post at the Japanese embassy in France. So she and a number of her father's staff—mostly her private tutors—were relocated to Paris, while the rest tended to their estate in their absence.

If she had to be honest, she was much happier there. Her friendships may have dated back to the cradle, but her mother had been one of her very few true allies. With her gone, the desire to escape Konoha only intensified. Early on, she had been unwillingly thrust into the backstabbing and social-climbing culture of Konoha that pervaded even the elementary years. She often wondered if it had stemmed from the people or the land itself. Thanks to the various expansions over the years, Konoha had become the biggest man-made isle of Japan—and its inhabitants were equally as artificial.

She didn't know how to feel about going back to Konoha. Or rather, she didn't understand it. Why _did_ she have to leave? After her father was appointed Ambassador-at-Large four years ago, she was practically living alone anyway. And more importantly, she wasn't willing to give up the new life she'd painstakingly built. At the International School of Paris, she was top of the class with an impressive track record, already receiving offers from the Ivy Leagues. She'd even managed to snag an enviable apprenticeship under world-renowned Dr. Tsunade of the American Hospital of Paris.

She felt a bigger pang in her chest at the memory of Tsunade shedding a few tears before enveloping her in a fierce hug. Sakura recalled the odd but comforting combination of the sandalwood essential oil Tsunade habitually dabbed on her pulse points and the sterile scent of antiseptics clinging to the white coat. The display of affection had simultaneously surprised and amused her colleagues—_incroyable,_ they had cried. It was the first time they had seen of the prickly, sharp-tongued doctor's maternal side.

As the faint lights below the clouds slowly became the streets of Japan, Sakura felt a bittersweet twinge of nostalgia and loss.

The flight attendant appeared again with a customs declaration sheet.

"Miss, pens are in the second compartment in the side table. If you need further assistance, please let me know and I'll be happy to assist you."

But I have nothing to declare, Sakura wanted to say. I'm losing everything.

—

Ino Yamanaka was not happy.

"She's even taking him shopping, and he _hates_ shopping. Ugh, he must really like that skank," she groaned, flipping over face-down on her bed. Her carefully applied makeup was probably going to smear all over her Frette linen sheets, but she didn't care.

Her close friend (and unfortunate confidante) Hinata Hyuuga squirmed uncomfortably on the black satin tufted sofa.

"Temari isn't so bad," she frowned, feeling a little disloyal. Both the Hyuuga and Subaku families ran in the same social circles; after all, the banks of Hyuuga International have been handling Subaku Oil's accounts for years. They weren't close, but Temari had always been civil to her whenever they met at various functions.

Ino shot straight up, her pale gold hair swinging prettily. "Hey, you're supposed to be on my side!"

Hinata looked down and fidgeted with her long, slender fingers. "You know I hate talking behind people's backs. And you don't even know her that well."

"Hello, Google? Temari's a world-ranked tennis player, for God's sake. But I don't need Google to tell me that she's older, gorgeous, and smart. How am I going to compete with that?"

Hinata blinked in surprise—it was the first time she'd heard Ino say anything remotely insecure. Ino was so dazzlingly beautiful that it almost hurt. Once she hit the five-foot-nine mark, she began to follow her supermodel mother's footsteps on the runways of Chanel, Dolce & Gabbana, and Prada. True, her family connections in public relations and fashion may have played a role in her modelling gigs, but no one could deny Ino's star quality.

Beauty wasn't the only thing she was born with. From the day she was born (a highly publicized affair in itself), she had always been the object of adoration and fear. Even in kindergarten, she never failed to bring the oohs and ahs during show-and-tell. She had a natural confidence and charisma that enabled her to easily set trends, broke hearts, and ruled the social scene with an iron fist. By ten, she had established herself as a mini-socialite, and the press eagerly tracked the growth—only physical ones, it seemed—of the sole heiress to Yamanaka Communications. As she developed a recklessness and penchant for partying that was proportional to her beauty, she became a regular media darling.

In the public eye, Ino was a seasoned pro. Hinata had always been in awe of how invincible Ino was—or rather, appeared to be.

Ino got up from the bed and turned around to face the silk gold damask print walls. The hollowed planes of her evenly tanned back were peeking out from the racer-back BCBG colour block dress. Was Ino eating? It seemed like she was getting skinnier and skinnier by the day.

Today, they had crab cakes and a light autumn salad with apple cider vinaigrette for lunch, but Ino hardly ate—as per usual. The eager rookie model, Ino had developed a habit for fad-dieting. However, true to its name, she was bound to quit in a matter of weeks, or even days. Although she noticed her best friend's lack of an appetite, she held her tongue because Ino got annoyed when people tried to make her eat. Besides, with her track record of impatience, Hinata was confident that it would meet a natural short end.

But now she was worried—had she let it gone on for too long?

"Ino, let's go eat an early dinner," Hinata said cheerfully, trying to change the atmosphere. "I'm starved. We'll eat, and then go shopping."

Ino slowly turned around. Aha. Her best friend was a classic retail therapy girl. Gaining confidence, Hinata pressed on.

"I'll phone-"

"Let's go to your place," Ino interrupted. Her eyes shone with a strange light that immediately aroused Hinata's concern. Her best friend only looked this way when she had a plan—one that usually ended in what Ino called a "beautiful disaster".

"Our department store?" Hinata's brow furrowed. "I thought you liked Saks better." Ino always complained that Hyuuga International's department store only carried old-fashioned "mom designers".

"Not anymore," Ino answered, striding into her massive walk-in closet.

"Why?" Hinata was afraid to ask.

Ino poked her head out, a pair of deadly Jimmy Choo stilettos in her hands. Uh oh. She meant _business._

"I'm going to break some hearts." Ino's full lips curled in a vindictive smile. "Well, I'm going to break _something."_

"Oh no," Hinata was horrified. She had caught on. "You wouldn't—"

The queen bee was ready to sting.

—

Sakura had wanted the experience of a normal flight, which meant an absence of the usual private jet and bodyguards. She'd even wanted to try economy class, but her father—who was horrified at the prospect of his daughter sitting next to a potential maniac—was adamantly against it. As both an overprotective father and ambassador, he was supremely paranoid about security. In a lengthy phone debate, they eventually drew a compromise with first class...and a wig (in nondescript brown, he insisted), which Sakura thought was ridiculous.

Her father's tone had been final. "You need protection. You're my daughter. People know who you are."

"Maybe I should stop accompanying you to state dinners," Sakura jested.

"Too late, you're a diplomatic celebrity," he laughed. "Your hair should be your trademark."

Sakura rolled her eyes, but couldn't help smiling. "I'm pretty sure it is. Who else has freak-show hair like mine?"

Her father laughed. "It's beautiful. Your mother had it, after all."

It wasn't the exact shade—as strange as it sounded, hers was definitely leaning towards the _pinker_ side—but the color was definitely reminiscent of her late mother's rose-blonde mane. Even after five years, she felt a painful pang in her chest whenever her mother was mentioned. She took a deep breath to steady herself. "On her, maybe. I just look weird."

"Well, the wig should remedy that," he teased. His voice suddenly grew serious. "Promise me you'll wear it."

Now, she wished that she had stuck to her father's private jet. Or at least, that she didn't refuse the offer of help from various concerned bystanders.

Sweat rolled down her face as she chased and lifted suitcase after suitcase on the revolving carousel. This was _so_ not worth it. As much as she wanted to assert her independence, she had severely underestimated her luggage.

To make matters worse, the infernal wig was getting unbearably itchy. She wanted to rip it off.

But still. She was going to do this on her own.

After what seemed to be hours, Sakura finally managed to get all her luggage piled precariously on the trolley. It tottered like a Jenga puzzle, but Sakura was too tired at that point to complain.

As she made her way out of the baggage claim area, however, Sakura found her trolley colliding against something hard.

It took a while for her to register the fact that all fifteen minutes of her hard work were currently scattered all over the floor next to a pair of polished charcoal grey loafers. Sakura recognized them as Salvatore Ferragamo, the Italian designer that her father was partial to.

When she finally looked up, she saw the owner of the shoes was a boy around her age with shaggy jet-black hair. He towered over her at six feet, and his clothes—Yohji Yamamoto, she noted—hung effortlessly and stylishly on his sleek muscled frame.

The first thought that popped into her head was _tall, dark, and handsome._ Sharp dark eyes, impeccable model-like bone structure, sculpted nose and mouth...yes, he had it all-

"Watch where you're going," the boy snapped. He managed one short scornful look at gape-mouthed Sakura and her fallen luggage before turning away with his trolley.

-everything except manners, it seemed.

"What a gentleman," Sakura angrily muttered, glaring at the inky black leather suitcases perfectly piled on the offender's trolley before she turned to her own.

She sighed. Back to square one.

—

"Bastard!"

Immediately following the assailing voice, a flurry of colors equally as loud sped towards him, which he dodged with a practiced swerve.

"Dead-last. You're giving me a headache." Sasuke Uchiha muttered, cursing himself for deciding to visit his unbearably loud best friend's place right after his twelve-hour flight.

The tanned, good-natured face of Naruto Uzumaki crinkled up in a grin. Sasuke grimaced at the cacophonous combination of colors. Orange sweater, neon yellow shorts, and purple Nike sneakers? The colorblind idiot looked like a jumbo set of highlighters. Although Naruto had hired an interior designer for his penthouse apartment, his psychedelic aesthetic ("aesthetic" being used loosely in this case) unfortunately managed to infiltrate—or rather, _contaminate_—the otherwise tasteful modernism. Thankfully, it was neat. If Naruto's daily consumption of instant ramen was any indication, Sasuke suspected that they would be sitting in a landfill if it wasn't for the housekeeper that kept up with his daily pigsty.

Despite it all, however, Sasuke couldn't help but crack a smile. On the inside.

"You're an even bigger asshole when you're jetlagged," Naruto laughed, clapping him on the back. "How was Paris?"

Sasuke kept his face neutral. "Fine. Where's Nara?"

"With his girlfriend. Of course, you wouldn't know what that's like," a voice said snidely from behind him. Sasuke turned to see Neji Hyuuga smirking at him from the white minimalist spiral stairs.

Were his friends determined to give him a migraine?

"Hyuuga," Sasuke greeted, rolling his eyes. "Might I remind you that you haven't had a relationship—like ever?"

"I prefer temporary arrangements to satisfy the baser urges. I don't care for the messiness of passion. But then again," Neji paused, his smirk widening. "One requires a bit of finesse. _Your_ affair in Paris didn't end very well, did it?"

As if. More like a one-sided _obsession_ on the girl's part. Sasuke scowled. "Don't you have better things to do than to spy on me?"

"Uchiha, I don't have time to track every disastrous decision you make," Neji said coolly, casually brushing away his (positively _glossy_) umber hair from his face.

With the ridiculously long hair, Sasuke grudgingly had to concede that Neji had that pretty boy appeal—something that he would never understand. Unfortunately for his fangirls, Sasuke suspected that Neji was too in love with himself to commit to anyone else.

But to be fair, he supposed Neji really didn't have the time—after all, he always took the longest to get ready. Even longer than most girls Sasuke knew, in fact. _Four hours_ was the record, he recalled with humor. Feminine-looking products were always to be found in Neji's orderly bathroom—various deep conditioning oils (unsurprising), Kiel's Crème de Corps body butter, and something called "SKII face emulsion" (Sasuke didn't even know what the hell that was, but he was sure he saw _his mother_ using the exact one).

The only thing missing was a box of tampons.

"Besides," Neji continued. "Your sloppiness has earned you a few more posts on _I Spy."_

Sasuke groaned. Seriously? _I Spy_ was the stalker-ish blog that some anonymous loser in their school created two years ago. Although he avoided it like the plague, he heard that he had been targeted a substantial number of times.

"You read that garbage?" he asked incredulously. He would have never pegged the meditating pacifist to be a follower. Wouldn't that disrupt his chi or some shit like that? There were quite a number of posts on him as well...

"Surprisingly, it has its uses." Neji smirked. "Quite resourceful, the mystery Spy—or at least, _its_ spies."

Although Sasuke had to admit he was somewhat impressed that the entire school had become fastidious readers in a matter of weeks, he had zero respect. Not only was the Spy a coward, it was also lazy—it relegated its dirty work to its young and desperate minions.

"Surprisingly," Sasuke echoed dryly. "As they should've known that there was nothing worthwhile to report."

"Names weren't mentioned, but it was quite obvious who it was."

"Who is she?" Naruto whined. "How come I'm the only one who doesn't know?"

Neji's smirk only widened. "Uzumaki, your idiocy never fails to disappoint. _You,_ of all people, should know who it is."

Sasuke shot him a warning look, and Neji flashed him a Cheshire-cat grin in response.

Naruto didn't notice the curious exchange.

"Hey, Rapunzel, it's not my fault," he complained. "You two bullies are always excluding me!"

Sasuke's lips twitched at Neji's nickname, but Neji merely rolled his eyes.

"How did you get rid of her then?" Neji asked, leaning against the exposed brick wall.

Sasuke shrugged. "She was crazy," he answered shortly, flopping down on the eyesore of a lime-green modular couch. The only thing that redeemed it was that it was upholstered in high-quality Italian leather—thank God the interior designer had intervened at some point. He closed his eyes. "But even crazy girls have a price."

—

It was odd. In Paris, she almost forgot what her house looked like. But now, as the car pulled up to her old house, it felt as if she'd never left.

The three-storey Tudor-revival mansion spanned a six acre plot of land in Konoha. Ivy climbed up the latticed taupe stone exterior, the twisting walled pathways, the intricate herringbone brick chimneys, and the high gable roof. Although her father had modernist ambitions in mind, he eventually gave in to his green-thumb wife and her idyllic garden fantasy. However, he was unwilling to relinquish his entire plan. All in all, it was still a behemoth of homes—ten bedrooms, a saltwater pool with a waterfall, and even a guesthouse and stables—but with the picturesque landscaping of a quaint country home.

Memories instantly flooded her as she got out of the car. There was the area near the stone birdbath where she always drew flowers with chalk. The sound of rushing glimmering blue behind the house reminded her of pink-lemonade summers. Behind the grove of maple trees, she saw the stables and trail leading to the dense forest out back—she vaguely wondered if Earl was still there, waiting for her. She was thankful that she couldn't see the gazebo, where she and her mother would often sit to enjoy the gentle summer breeze...

The pitter-patter of feet behind her broke her melancholic train of thought. Sakura turned to see the butler scurrying out to carry all her suitcases inside. She was about to tell him that she would do it herself, but she was distracted by the realization that it wasn't Mr. Nobu, the kindly butler who sneaked her lollipops when her mother wasn't looking. Sakura frowned. Had he retired?

Shortly after, a familiar woman in a white tweed suit stepped out of the house with a train of younger women in starched navy linen dresses. They stopped to bow, hands folded primly over their laps.

"Sakura-sama," the woman greeted her in low cultured tones.

"Mrs. Tsukino!" Sakura grinned, hugging the matronly woman. She had been the Harunos' trusted household manager for so long that she felt like family—a strict, no-nonsense aunt. She giggled when she felt her stiffen with surprise. It had been her personal mission from age four to expand Mrs. Tsukino's comfort zone.

When Sakura released her, she saw her mildly startled but pleased expression. Over the five years, her face had become more angular and defined with lines. Her severely bobbed ebony hair was now streaked with silver. Time favored Mrs. Tsukino, Sakura thought. Aging only intensified her elegant air of authority and intelligence.

"How many times do I have to say that you should drop the suffix?"

Mrs. Tsukino ignored this. "I must say, you have grown livelier in Paris, Sakura-sama."

"I was always lively," Sakura retorted with a laugh. "Have you forgotten?"

"It has been a very long time," Mrs. Tsukino remarked as they walked into the house.

"Yes, it has," Sakura replied. "So many unfamiliar faces! What happened to Mr. Nobu?"

Mrs. Tsukino's face became curiously pinched. "Mr. Nobu resigned shortly after your leave due to personal reasons," she said curtly.

Sakura cocked her head questioningly, but she shook it off.

"Well, thank _you_ for staying—the house is beautiful." No one else could have taken better care of it. The dark oak hardwood floors and crystal cast-iron chandelier was polished to a reflective shine. On the pastel-yellow panelled walls, the Monets and Zhumabaevs encased in embellished Sicilian silver frames were restored and dust-free. In the middle of the foyer was a bone-white vase of artfully arranged flowers on an antique stand. The white hydrangeas, green hypercium berries, fuchsia tulips, and peach Juliet cabbage roses emitted a subtle and harmonious blend of fragrances. Her relatively unmaterialistic mother _did_ have one true weakness—beautiful fresh flowers. Sakura smiled sadly. She would have been pleased.

Mrs. Tsukino's thin lips smiled. "I'm glad to hear it. But I do hope the house's true guardian has returned for good."

Sakura sighed. Although it was nice being back, every inch of her house brought back memories that she wasn't ready to face. It was precisely the reason she was willing to leave her whole life behind in Konoha. She always had a feeling that her father had moved her to Paris intentionally—to grant her a bit of peace. Both she and her father were still grieving. We are so much alike, she thought. Busying ourselves, creating our own distractions.

Her father never dabbled in another relationship even though he was still in his prime at his forties. Similarly, Sakura had opted out of dating. Despite a fair amount of suitors in Paris, she felt that she should focus on finding happiness on her own instead of relying on someone else. In her opinion, the two halves-make-a-whole proverbs were for the weak-minded who needed a crutch—fulfillment was a burden that everyone should bear on their own. Since she couldn't fix her past, she resolved to perfect her future. Then maybe—just maybe—she would heal and become whole again.

"While you are here, however, we must get you some new clothes." Mrs. Tsukino eyed Sakura's low-key ensemble of an oversized acid-wash denim sweater, leggings, and frayed camel-colored Uggs with distaste. "This is certainly not how the beautiful young lady of the house should dress."

"I just came back from the airport," Sakura reminded her. "It would be a waste to wear haute couture on a flight."

Mrs. Tsukino pressed on. "Your hair too—just look at those tangles!" At that, Sakura had to agree. She had been wearing a wig for twelve hours. As soon as she got into the car, she had immediately ripped it off before falling asleep.

"And I thought you would come back from Paris a refined young woman...we'll make an appointment with a hair stylist immediately." Mrs. Tsukino motioned at one of the maids. "Kimiko—phone."

"I don't get a break?" Sakura called at Mrs. Tsukino's retreating back. "Those bags were heavy, you know."

"Oh, first class must have been so arduous," Mrs. Tsukino said sarcastically. But her eyes were twinkling. "Welcome back to Konoha, Sakura-sama."

—

"Waitress?" The high, sharp voice called. Again.

Tenten stifled her groan before turning around and plastering on a fake smile.

It was the dreaded afternoon tea time. From her two years of experience at Hyuuga International's VIP sky lounge, she noticed that the rail-thin trophy wives grew highly irritable by three o' clock—most likely due to chronically unsatisfied stomachs.

"How can I help you?" Tenten asked the three coiffed, overtly Botoxed women. She kept a daily mental list ranking the most annoying customers (by this rate, it would probably become a _hit_ list). The three women, who were unfortunately becoming regulars, had no trouble navigating to the top. In the mere five minutes they were there, they managed to call her back at least ten times.

"Is this scone low-carb?"

"Yes. A net effective two grams per scone."

"What about this jam? Organic strawberries and agave nectar?"

"Yes."

"Free-range eggs?"

Oh, the poor chickens. Tenten wished _she_ was free-range so she could leave.

"Yes."

"And this is real kopi luwak coffee?"

It took all her willpower not to laugh. "Yes. We at Hyuuga International pride ourselves in using only certified bona fide products."

There were a good few more nauseating sentences in the canned speech, but Tenten was too exhausted to be the lounge's wind-up doll any longer.

After scrutinizing the drink with a heavily mascaraed eye, the blonde then proceeded to make the most exaggerated sip Tenten had ever seen.

"Ahhh. Yes. This is divine."

Tenten privately rolled her eyes.

"Naomi, what is that?"

The woman turned to her friend, her face aghast. "Are you telling me that you've never had kopi luwak before? This, my dear friends, is the best coffee in the world. I insist that you experience the rich aroma yourselves! My treat." She turned back to Tenten. "Two more."

Although she was mildly annoyed at the imperious tone, it wasn't anything that she wasn't accustomed to. She smiled sweetly. "Of course," Tenten trilled, heading to the back. Once they were out of earshot, she doubled over in laughter.

In her line of work, she had brushed elbows with the top 1% in Japan. And yet, she still couldn't understand rich people. Didn't they know what kopi luwak really was? Or were they all buying into the hype—just because they could?

"Two hundred dollars for a cup of shit," Tenten chortled, wiping her eye. She certainly wasn't going to stop them—their tips were putting food on her table, after all. Besides, it kept her job in hell entertaining. It was quite a sight—a poetic justice, even—to see hot shit trophy wives _literally_ drinking (also hot) shit out of priceless china cups.

"Two more orders of your hottest shit," she called out cheerfully to the barista. The barista Sachi shot her a look, but her mouth twitched.

_"They can hear you,"_ Sachi warned her in a low voice. Her eyes nervously darted to their bitchy supervisor, who was fortunately deep in a shallow conversation with a trophy wife near a bay window.

Tenten took the hot steaming cups and placed them on a silver tray. "As in most popular," she clarified, her amber eyes widening innocently. That earned a snort.

As she headed back to the dreaded table, she saw that there were two more arrivals—tall, lithe girls, one blonde, and one raven-haired.

"Darlings!" Naomi cried, air-kissing them both. "Why didn't you tell me you would be here?"

"Sorry, Naomi," the blonde girl replied blithely. "It was a spur of the moment thing."

Tenten immediately recognized that cool, even voice (she thought Naomi had looked familiar!). At school, Naomi's clone strutted around with her beautiful, shy best friend. She had never spoken to Ino Yamanaka (or rather, _Ino_ had never spoken to her), but the surprisingly nice Hinata Hyuuga sat next to her in AP pre-Calculus last year. Tenten had always been simultaneously appalled and amazed by how boys and girls alike threw themselves at Ino's feet like she was some sort of deity. There were plenty of pretty heiresses in Konoha, and yet, Ino alone had this effect on people—something about her glowed extra bright.

She noticed that Ino was on first name-basis with her mother—evidently, age didn't intimidate her, and for good reason. Even Naomi's friends acted like her eager freshman fans, fawning over her outfit and exclaiming how skinny she had gotten.

"Hinata, darling, you must keep me posted," Naomi wagged a manicured finger at her mock-sternly. The multiple flashy cocktail rings matched the bejewelled peacock-pendant necklace sparkling on her swan-like neck. Her friends had also followed suit in similarly outrageous splendor. Who the hell wore that kind of jewellery to a casual outing anyway?

Tenten felt sick just looking at the ostentation. Even if she had all the money in the world, she couldn't imagine spending it so frivolously. A single ring would probably cost the equivalent of four monthly rent payments. A necklace? Probably for three years or more.

"My Ino, always full of surprises," Naomi said fondly. Her motherly expression vanished when she caught sight of Tenten observing them a few feet away. "About time, waitress," she snapped.

Her classmates turned their heads. Although Ino gazed at her apathetically, Hinata's wide-set opalescent grey eyes lit up with recognition.

"Hello, Tenten," she greeted her with a shy smile on her small rosebud lips. Unlike her showy blonde friend, Hinata's loveliness was dignified—a sort of regal beauty that belonged to a princess. During class, she would often covertly stare at Hinata's flawless porcelain complexion and soft dainty fingers. With her large calloused hands and tanned freckled skin, Tenten felt almost manlike near her.

"How are you?"

Tenten was grateful—she never took kindness for granted. "Fine, thanks. You?"

"Very well, thank you."

Naomi and her cronies were gape-mouthed at the exchange. "Do you know her, darling?"

"She's our classmate," Hinata explained. "We had pre-Calculus together."

_"You_ go to Konoha Academy?" Naomi's friend blurted out incredulously.

Tenten said nothing. To be honest, she didn't blame her. She was poor. She had no connections. It had only been by grace of excellent grades and athleticism that got her a place in the private international school that heirs and heiresses attended. But even then, her status as a welfare student put her at the bottom rung of Konoha Academy's social ladder. She may have zealously participated in school teams in accordance to her scholarship contract but she didn't bother to nurture any friendships within her team. The feelings were mutual; her trust fund baby teammates were repelled by her family background—or lack thereof—and standoffish attitude.

Eventually, however, they shrugged it off when she consistently put the team through nationals. Such was the general attitude of Konoha Academy—statistics and glory were everything. In exchange for medals and trophies, they offered ignorance. It was better that way, Tenten often told herself whenever she felt the dull throb of loneliness. It was better than outright persecution. An orphan without a last name could never belong.

The dubious Naomi looked as if she was bursting with questions, but Ino thankfully interrupted.

"Well, we must get going, Naomi. The stores await." Ino gracefully swooped down and kissed all three women goodbye.

"You're not staying? I was hoping the heiress of Hyuuga International could get us faster service," Naomi said snarkily, staring at Tenten pointedly. "Coffee shouldn't take that long."

Hinata's smooth brow wrinkled. She didn't say anything, but Tenten could tell she was feeling uncomfortable.

"Naomi, regular coffee doesn't cost two hundred dollars," Ino pointed out. Tenten raised an eyebrow. Ino hadn't spoken to her once, but now she was _defending_ her? Was the ice queen having an off day? _"__I'd _hope I'm getting my money's worth," she added with a whisper of an ironic smirk on her glossy lips.

Tenten smirked. If Ino was knowingly letting Mommy Dearest drink liquefied poop...

Naomi sniffed. "I suppose," she said grudgingly. "Off you go, waitress."

Rolling her eyes at the degrading tone, she grabbed the silver tray and turned to leave.

"We'll see you at school," Hinata called.

She turned to see Hinata smiling at her, a disinterested Ino at her iPhone, and Naomi and her cronies scowling at her.

We?

"See you," she echoed, hoping that it didn't sound like a question.

—

Sakura chewed on her lip pensively in the backseat of the car. The fleeting images that she saw out the window were unfamiliar. Change was inevitable in a span of five years, but she was surprised when she couldn't even recognize some of her neighbors' houses anymore. In fact, some of them had been entirely stripped down and built completely anew to keep up with Konoha's demanding ideals.

The truly unsettling thing, Sakura mused, was that people were so willfully blind to the volatility of ideals. The more she saw of the unnatural beauty, the more disturbed she felt. From the manicured toenails of lapdogs to the carefully highlighted hair of six-year old girls, it was clear that nothing was spared from Konoha's ruthless goal for perfection.

Beside her sat Reiko, the maid assigned to be her tour guide for the shopping trip. The bubbly redhead was a twenty-four year old single mother who had been working full-time as a maid for various wealthy families in Konoha before the Harunos. While running daily errands for size-two heiresses, she developed a somewhat useful (useless in the grand scheme of things) talent—she knew her way around upscale department stores even blindfolded. Reiko had joked that she felt like the talking map from her kid's favorite show,_ Dora the Explorer._

"So, are we almost there?" Sakura asked, wriggling her toes in her four-inch yellow Badgley Mischka pumps. Out of the few pair of shoes that Mrs. Tsukino approved of, they were the shortest. Ladies wore heels, she had insisted, casting a disapproving look at Sakura's sprawling collection of flats. Sakura only wore heels to state dinners and parties. Shouldn't you wear comfortable shoes when you walked kilometers by foot?

"You'll know when you see it, Sakura-sama," Reiko grinned, bouncing up and down on her seat like a hyperactive child.

Sakura' smile at Reiko's childlike behavior fell off her lips. After five years in Paris, it was disorienting to hear the honorific again. Not that she ever got used to it in the first place. "Just Sakura. Please. I'm not royalty or anything."

Reiko stopped bouncing. "You're a strange one," she finally said. And then she laughed. "The number of times I wanted to say that to all the teenage brats I worked for—but of course, I mean that _you're_ weird in a good way," she immediately clarified when she saw Sakura's frown. "You're—well, _nice."_

This time, Sakura laughed. "Thanks, but I'm concerned that it's apparently a rare occurrence for you."

"Well, this _is_ Konoha. I must be a masochist to be coming back here every day," Reiko chuckled darkly. "To be honest though, I wouldn't hate Konoha if I were you—the world is your oyster, and all that jazz."

Sakura frowned. She knew she was lucky enough to be living a life that many would kill for, but this wasn't paradise. The proof was in her mother's gravestone. Konoha had slowly consumed her alive for refusing to conform. In the end, swallowed her whole, leaving nothing but a tearstained note and a hangman's noose.

"Oh, we're here!" Reiko beat the chauffeur to the door. "Come on, we'll have to hit all of 'em in three hours."

Sakura tried not to look dismayed. She had an appreciation for beautiful clothing, but she loathed shopping. There was a good reason why Mrs. Tsukino insisted on carefully selecting her "shopping outfit"—salesladies were the snobbiest people in the world. Their perpetual elevator eyes were merciless. If they liked what they saw, they would fawn over you with sickening false intimacy. If not, their forbidding stares could intimidate even the most self-possessed shopper into leaving.

"Beautiful, huh?" Reiko grinned. "It's only two years old, and it's already the grandest department store in Konoha."

Sakura realized that they were in the modernized Art Deco sector of downtown Konoha. It _was_ beautiful—a grandiose ivory building reminiscent of Bergdorf Goodman in Manhattan. It was several stories high, with high ceilings on the ground floor supported by concrete block columns. Each column was stationed in a small square of well-groomed shrubbery. The logo glistening above the tall arched glass doors caught her eye.

_Hyuuga International._

It was at that moment when she knew that she was truly back.

Unbeknownst to her, she soon wouldn't be the only one.

As she stared up at the gold letters with a nostalgic smile, two certain people from her past were leaving the building.

* * *

A/N: Here we are, the first chapter of Crowns! A social commentary on the haves and have nots was running rampant in my brain for quite a while now. I thought the characters in Naruto would work really well with the storyline I was envisioning because they are just so wonderfully complex!

I was inspired partly by shame shows like Gossip Girl that promote the grand and the outrageous. I admit that I enjoy watching them, but they are definitely guilty pleasures. Although this story initially might come off that way too, I have plans for a deeper plot! Bloodstains and ballgowns in a good way. :)

It took a while before I actually started writing this, because I was so heartbroken by batshit insane Sasuke and the deaths of my favourite characters in the manga. But once Kishimoto succumbed to Sasusaku shippers' death threats and renewed hope, my love for Naruto came back to life!

(If he revives Neji, I'll be so happy.)

I'm still figuring out the blueprint (definitely going to spin my own twist on the manga's storyline), but I'm so excited. Since my being back at school obviously means slower updates, I made this chapter extraaa long for you...but nevertheless, I'll try my best to update ASAP! My writing may be a bit rusty, but please bear with me...I'd love to hear some feedback :) Constructive criticism is welcome!

(But give me some love too.)

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EDIT: As Guest pointed out (I couldn't reply back to you because you kept yourself anonymous!), the pairings definitely aren't canon (yet)—just wishful thinking on my part. I guess being a die-hard Sasusaku and Nejiten shipper leaks into your subconscious :p

I actually read the most recent manga chapter a few days after I posted this story up, so I couldn't take into consideration the latest developments. Thankfully, Kishimoto seems to enjoy reviving the dead. With that, I'm keeping hope alive.

Anyways, I changed the summary to make it more accurate, and fixed a few grammatical errors. Hopefully it's all good now!

New chapter in progress—stay tuned! Thank you all so much for the lovely reviews I've gotten so far—keep em' coming because they really brighten up my day :)

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Notes (to the interested, bored, and/or confused):

1. This story is multi-POV to keep it interesting, but Sakura will probably be the focus.

2. I set the rating as M for now, just to be safe. There will be some content dangerously close to M, but I'm not sure if I am going to write (or even could write) really raunchy scenes. I guess we'll see...

3. Title of the first chapter is called Origin. Analyze away!

4. In this story, there are few liberties regarding ethnicity. I'm aware Kishimoto intended to make his characters Japanese, but to me, it just doesn't make any sense for a true Japanese person to have blonde hair or blue eyes. Maybe it does happen, but I'm pretty sure it's rare (I could get into dominant genes and biology, but it's pretty self-explanatory). I think the only thing that could explain the diversity is to have Konoha as the only part of Japan that isn't ethnically homogeneous after generations of mixed offspring.

So in this story, Konoha is a sort of international sector in the mold of money-hungry Manhattan and bubbleheaded La-La Land Beverly Hills. I may throw in a little Japanese here and there (e.g. honorifics), but English will be used primarily.

5. Ino's mother isn't Japanese—as you've noticed, her name is Naomi. She was an American supermodel who married Ino's father, an international businessman based in Konoha.

6. I noticed that Tenten didn't have a surname in the series (correct me if I'm wrong), so I used that to my advantage.

7. OCs will be used, but some will actually be actual characters with their identities concealed for now. For instance—the mystery girl from Paris? She isn't as irrelevant as little Sasuke thinks.

8. I Spy was a huge nod to the anonymous Gossip Girl. I wanted to emphasize the power of words and the media, and how it's a tool for power.

9. If you're not an architecture and interior design junkie (and I highly recommend becoming one) and need references, use Google for visual representations until further notice—I'm planning to upload links on my page. For future reference, there will be a lot of home-erotic porn in my story. (I know, I'm hilarious.)

10. Kopi luwak is the most expensive coffee in the world, with a price tag ranging from 100 to 600 US dollars per pound. Otherwise known as civet coffee, they are brewed from coffee berry beans collected from the excrement from the Asian palm civet. So yes, you are literally drinking shit. I remember reading an article on it in _Time Magazine_ and thinking it was a great bit of irony to add.

Anything I missed? Ask in your reviews or PM me!


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